barrayar | I am junking up this beautiful community with this junk

[ Miles doesn't get all of that - any of that, really - but senses that there's something churning, and something frustrating Gregor just below the surface of Miles' vision. He has to bite back the urge to go looking, to just peel layer by layer back and see for himself. (The urge sours anyway when he pictures it in any level of detail; it feels too much like harm, like an absolute betrayal of Gregor's privacy. Which it would be. No, he must not harm Gregor under any circumstances.)

The result, though, is more moodiness, and no particular comfort being drawn from Gregor's words. His mind skips back over that sharp spot and digs in, hard, as it catches on the painful memory. ]

I thought I did. It didn't work out well. [ Quickly, past it -- ] And "nothing wrong" is a very long way from anything positive. I might manage unique.

Edited (whoa bad html fuckup) 2016-01-27 04:27 (UTC)

[It would break something inviolate and very difficult to repair for Miles to do that; Gregor already only teeters over into luxuriating acceptance of this mental link because he trusts Miles absolutely, unconditionally, to not only accept with equanimity anything he feels or hears from Gregor but also not to harm him. He has so very little that he gets to keep for himself, and it is precious to him, even the festering parts. He shows them only deliberately.

There's no possible way to respond to this without exposing himself somehow. Yet he can't not respond to it, can't deflect when he feels how deeply this runs in Miles as a wound. That he'd wanted someone who 'bought into that rot' and it 'didn't work out well'-- The implications there make him quietly, deeply angry at this unknown woman. How long has this bled, unnoticed? The feeling of being torn in two worsens until he imagines he can feel himself break in half.

His hand retracts, again without totally conscious thought, and both of his land in his lap in a tight, composed grip.] I'm finding it very hard right now not to say something I'm going to dearly regret later. [His churning frustration bubbles up into a peak.]

Edited 2016-01-27 04:29 (UTC)

[ He would never, in the end; the temptation, however it may have spiked, can only be temporary.

A small starburst of despair seems to go off in his head at that. Gregor retracting, Gregor frustrated, Gregor not wanting to say something he'd regret - where is that ultimate acceptance that Miles had felt during that first disastrous power test? Is it gone? Does it not apply here, on this alternate level? He'd fed Gregor the worst first not really to make him stumble, but rather to selfishly pursue comfort. He can only blame himself if he finds Gregor's reaction to be only a reasonable one, after all.

(The sharp spot catches and bleeds again; he finds himself ruthlessly dragging his mind back over it, picturing himself on Beta Colony and feeling very desperate indeed.)

Without a word, he reaches for the bottle again. Takes a drink. Forces it to puncture something of this painful feeling bubbling up inside of him, before it obscures everything. This isn't Gregor's fault. His, all his, and this is a stupid conversation to be having. What was he expecting anyway? For Gregor to tell him he was pretty or something? ]

It's all right. Let's trot out something you can defend, then, and we'll both feel better.

[The trouble is, Gregor wants to tell him he's pretty in a thousand articulate, well-chosen words. Pretty is the least of it, pretty is juvenile and shallow and stupid and most of all effeminate, and there is nothing remotely feminine about Miles and that is the problem. Because Gregor is hopelessly, head over arse obsessed with him, anyway.

There's huge swathes of pain Miles is ruthlessly subjecting himself to as if it's his due course, and the worst of it is how little he shows outwardly, so much like Gregor himself with that coping mechanism that seeing it scrapes along his nerves. Because with that one bare hint Gregor can see the whole, abhorrent scope of it: he's trained in understanding people on an intuitive level and the whole mess unfolds before his eyes, practically, though of course he doesn't know what lengths it'd driven Miles to, that he can still see the reverberations is telling enough. That he thinks Gregor can't say anything here because he'll confirm that damn woman who raked him over the coals and didn't come close to appreciating him--

The whole dam breaks at once.]

You are so absurdly blind, [bursts out of him roughly, and his hand shoots out and snatches the wine bottle away from him, eyes blazing.] I can barely think for how bloody attractive you are sometimes and you think I agree with whoever did that to you?

[ What?

He can't have heard that right. He fights back, rather abruptly, the urge to laugh like a goddamn maniac. The surprise does at least knock both sharpness and despair out of him in an instant, but he can't seem to find the right emotion to fill in the empty space. Gregor feels sincere. He can't possibly be -- Miles reaches ineffectively for the bottle as it's pulled away from him. ]

Gregor, no. You don't have to do this.

[ Because even now, all Miles sees is that Gregor must be drumming this up to soothe Miles' stupid, poisoned ego. That's a more logical explanation than Gregor having actual romantic feelings for him. ]

You're right, [he retorts, cold.] I don't. So don't insult me by questioning my sincerity.

[God, what is he doing? Gregor feels drunk. He's definitely not drunk, he's only had two glasses of wine. He does feel exhausted, and very fed up, and not in the mood at all to keep fighting with himself and being tormented over his feelings for Miles. Seeing Miles in so much pain that he could assuage himself was the last straw.

He can't stand it, seeing him like that, and he's seen him like that so often and so much but ever since he'd-- he'd fallen for him it had sharpened into a scalpel that sliced him right across the quick. Gregor feels that he takes on his pain more than just physically, now; except feeling it doesn't make him morose, like his own does. It makes him angry. It makes him want to lash out with careful precision and take apart whatever had made him that way, and then return home to put Miles back together. Only there's nowhere else to direct it here but out, diffusely, spilling everything.

He's never felt this strongly before, and it scares the hell out of him; he's riding a tidal wave and is dreading what it's going to be like coming down. Miles can undoubtedly feel some of the magnitude of emotion cresting inside him.]

[ It's awe-inspiring on a terrifying level. He gets a dizzying sense of how much there is, the force and the magnitude of it and how very tightly dammed up it must have been for him to have never felt a bit of it. It - probably is a very real danger over their link, all of it; lesser men could be swept away by the force of it all.

Instead, in Miles, it kindles something akin to a roaring fire. Oh, he is absolutely terrified, but exhilarated too, and - Gregor feels all that about me, he realizes abruptly, his thoughts racing about in frenzied circles. He'd thought so many times he'd ruined their relationship, taking his little selfish bits of comfort in enjoying something he was quite certain he thought Gregor would not want to touch. Wrong, clearly wrong, and Miles has never been gladder. His heart surges back up again even as his mouth has gone too dry to get out any physical words.

If Gregor dreads coming down, then Miles won't let him fall. He rises up to meet him instead, physically reaching to fist a hand in the front of Gregor's shirt even as his usual steadfast brightness ratchets right back up to maximum. No questions now, no. Even Miles is not that oblivious.

(Does he even like men? He lets his gaze drag briefly over Gregor, and decides in a heartbeat that it doesn't matter, because he likes Gregor. Especially at his most terrifying and intense, as he is now.) ]

Edited 2016-01-27 05:20 (UTC)

[He's going to have to come down eventually, Miles, and it's going to be a terrible crash once he does, splintered parts digging in everywhere.

For right now, though, the seemingly impossible happens-- not just that Miles doesn't say anything, but that he... He's reaching out and touching him in response to this, he feels with all that luminosity like he likes it. The anger vanishes so rapidly it leaves a sucking vacuum behind. In a daze, one hand comes up to hesitantly cover Miles's on his chest, and there is something like pleading and something like fear in his eyes.]

Miles? What are you...?

[ They'll ride it together if they must; Miles is sure of it, as sure as he is of anything. His fist tightens against Gregor's shirt, pulling him closer. ]

You're too damn tall. It's a menace.

[ Because Miles does not do anything by halves, even when he's coming off a bad ego trip. All or nothing. Forward momentum. (Forward momentum has never led him to grabbing the Emperor by the collar to drag him into a kiss, but. One must needs improvise.) ]

[He's caught him so off guard none of the reasons why this is a bad idea (and he has an entire inventoried list of reasons, taken out and picked over with morbid obsessiveness) seem to rise up to hamstring him. They are mysteriously vacant.

Possibly because Miles is implying he wants to kiss him and oh, God, does he want to kiss Miles, so very badly. The amount of suppressed desire he's been keeping carefully boxed up abruptly lurches upward and surges down the link, crackling.]

I thought you liked tall, [he mutters, even as he's sinking down to one knee, the chair he was sitting on clattering behind him as it's pushed away. Gregor has never looked so riveted or -- frankly heated in his life.

But he doesn't make any move to initiate it, not even with their eyes finally about level, his hands reaching out mindlessly to grab Miles around the waist (a faint thrill goes through him, incredulous) to drag him toward him. Gregor is completely incapable of being the one to jump over that line after he's spent so long hating himself for even being aware the line exists.]

Edited (positioning in the scene is what??) 2016-01-27 05:47 (UTC)

[ That crackle of desire goes through Miles like an electric current, making him shiver. Miles has always had trouble saying no to people to begin with; saying no to Gregor's suddenly unguarded desire is well and truly beyond his ability to reject. Not that he cares. Hell, he wouldn't care even if it were coming out of the blue. He doesn't know what this means for Gregor - doesn't know how it feeds into his issues, or Serg and Cavilo's ghosts, but what he can do is want Gregor right back. His usual burning loyalty in a slightly different shape, edged with a crackling energy of his own.

Don't stop there, he wants to say. But he's grateful for just a moment to take in the scene, to take in Gregor in front of him. Miles had always found Gregor attractive in an aesthetic kind of way, but seeing that terrifying wave of feeling - seeing it directed towards Miles - is what turns it into something he desperately wants to touch all over. He shifts closer, leaning their foreheads together for just a moment. ]

I do like tall. [ Likes it a hell of a lot. Picturing Gregor towering over him sends another excited jolt through him, this time of his own making. ] But this is more convenient.

[ If Gregor won't cross the line, then Miles will. As he always does, kicking off into freefall without being sure what the bottom looks like. He doesn't really care at this exact second. Tightening his grip in Gregor's shirt, he leans forward to kiss him, hard. ]

[There's a distinct sense in freefall of weightlessness, of consequences and concerns being left behind on some higher vantage. Gregor is not someone who plunges himself into decisions like Miles does, and he can but follow here where he leads, rational thought left far behind.

The anticipation ratchets upward to nearly unbearable levels as Miles leans in to him, resting their foreheads together. And then he's-- he's kissing him forcefully, and somehow in all his guilty imaginings about this moment it foolishly never included how fiercely Miles goes after what he wants. Maybe because Gregor can't imagine being what he wants.

(That is a worry left above, somewhere else, to be looked at later.)

It startles a soft moan out of him, fingers tightening on Miles's waist, using that hold as leverage to keep him in place as Gregor starts to kiss back. Because the wave is still cresting through him and he returns the kiss with equal fervor, hungrily, eyes closing automatically just to feel his mouth that he'd only ever looked at before, wondering. Before long he introduces tongue, pushing his way in, dizzy enough to demand.

For these few long moments as they kiss, that is the only thing Gregor is thinking of. His mind is blank as an empty page waiting to have this memory inscribed on it, blank but for the pervasive, ringing sense of finally, and of desire catching fire piece by piece as it turns into outright lust.]

[ He gladly parts his lips for Gregor, nipping ever so gently in return, just enough to barely catch Gregor's bottom lip when they have to draw in breath. The hand at his shirt stays there, knuckles white; his other hand reaches up to cup the side of Gregor's face. Fingers rough against Gregor's jawline, not callused (not as a Vor lord, no) but scarred in spots. Miles inches closer too, wanting proximity as much as anything else they're doing with their mouths. With Gregor down on one knee, Miles is just about comfortable, with no awkward neck craning needed or tiptoeing to get where he needs to be. (Not that he minds. But there is a certain practicality to being on the same level.)

God. Even if he weren't completely into this - and he is, no question about that - that fire would do him in. It spreads gladly to him, Miles himself all dry tinder in comparison. Ready to catch at the slightest spark, much less this inferno. Fortunately Miles is all bright flames himself. Even as it consumes him, it enriches him, making him feel fuller, more whole with Gregor there to burn with him ...

He wants, oh yes. He wants very desperately. And he can feel Gregor wanting him in return, which is the hottest damn thing about the whole thing. So much of Miles' relationship troubles are caused by - or stem from - not being sure if he's wanted or not. Surely more towards the nod, with everything. A tiny, painful flash of the young woman who'd been so terribly fascinated by Miles' physical body, but who had cared not a bit for the person Miles himself was. But Gregor drowns it out in an instant; Miles can only reel, basking in the glow of knowing for sure that Gregor wants him.

How can he say no to that? He never wants to, ever. ]

[The feedback loop this generates is intoxicating. The fire is consuming; it eradicates all better judgement, eliminates doubts or second guessing from his mind. Everything has been pent up for so long-- not just his feelings for Miles but all of his feelings, everything, all of his anxieties and fears and unfulfilled longing just not to be alone. Gregor has never kissed someone he felt safe with before and it lances straight through his brain, dismantles his defenses. He can feel how receptive Miles is and he takes it as desperate, hungry encouragement, a far-off dream fulfilled. He never wants this to end.

Because when it ends, he's going to start thinking again.

Gregor impatiently pulls him closer toward him, tugging him around his upraised knee to fit in the crevice of his hip. His chest is flat against his-- an odd, jarring note rings through him, but he hastily ignores it, abstractly discomfited. Every thwarted urge rises up for competition at once, but the easiest one to do wins out, and he tears his mouth away to breathe just long enough to tug the collar of his shirt aside, to reapply his lips to the juncture of Miles's neck and shoulder in an open-mouthed kiss.

But he's reckless with the wild certainty that this is never going to happen again, and his most furtive lusts take over: Gregor sets his teeth on his flesh and sucks, hard, around the bite. Claiming.]

[ A strange sort of laugh ripples through Miles. Not laughing at Gregor, oh no. Rather he's giddy about the whole thing, buoyed up by the blazing heat between them, beyond the point of thought much like Gregor. He leans into Gregor's guidance, tilting his head to give the man full access to the crook of Miles' neck.

He shivers, slightly, as an answering electric current goes through him and the link. It feels good, but more importantly Miles can feel that sensation of being claimed too. Thrills at it, revels in it. Gregor wants him, Gregor wants to keep him, Gregor wants to keep this. He wraps both arms loosely around Gregor's neck now, turning his face to press a kiss to Gregor's temple in return.

Murmured and breathless: ]

Your Lord Vorkosigan.

[The bottom of his stomach drops out. Everything he's been ignoring, all of the swirling fears, see their opportunity and jump up and snatch at him all at once.

Gregor tears himself away and falls back to land heavily on the floor, breathing hard, his legs strewn out in front of him. Oh, God. Oh God.] What am I doing? [There is a note of thin despair thrumming through his voice, through his veins, his hands scrubbing at his face as if to scrub himself clean.

... say something I will dearly regret later... And how he regrets it. For what is rising up in a sick current is self-directed disgust flooding him, all the fire snuffed out and killed. Gregor is trying to pull himself back from Miles mentally, withdrawing all his eager contact, like packing your things into a suitcase to leave. The link is narrowing and narrowing but he can't get it off, it won't close completely, he's lost that capacity now, and the despair gains a bleak, hopeless razor's edge.

He'd tried to cut Miles off before he could feel too much of that, but it's pointless. He'd already felt so much from him. Gregor had practically manipulated him into kissing him, blasting desire at him like that. He'd taken advantage of him-- he knows he doesn't like men-- he'd been mostly drunk and in a vulnerable moment and here is Gregor thinking selfishly of himself-- there's no way Miles can honestly want him, so all that he'd been feeling from him must've been, in some way, coerced. Reflected from him, swept up along with the force of his feelings. There's nothing else it could be, with a liege-lord pressing himself on his male liege-sworn wanting to own him. His teeth on his neck are the very least of what Gregor wants to do, and he could coerce Miles all through it. He nearly had gone that far, and farther.

The roiling ugliness in him is enough for him to drown himself in. The sensation of his skin crawling with self-disgust is powerful enough as to be nearly physical.]

[ Very nearly physical indeed. Miles suddenly finds himself fighting a wave of nausea as the fire winks out, replaced by oppressive, horrifying darkness. If not for the link slamming mostly closed just then, he might have seriously had to fight against his stomach to keep all that wine from coming back up.

But no - the immediate trauma passes, to be replaced by shivering cold. Gregor's warmth is enough to prompt a soft, answering wail from Miles' side of the link. Torn from Miles' own razor-sharp areas, he can only bleed and bleed from the perceived rejection. Did Gregor not want him after all? After all that, had he just realized that Miles wasn't good enough for him after all?

No, he insists fiercely, squashing that particular strain of self-pity before it can even start. (The rough part bleeds, still, but it's not the point.) It all goes back to the reason why Miles had been so hesitant about his own confused feelings to begin with. That damn poisonous shadow of Serg making Gregor doubt - everything. He's sure that's what he feels now, as obscured as it may be by the shuttered link. Then, the only answer is to show Gregor the unfiltered truth. He drops carefully in front of Gregor, kneeling to the side of his emperor's legs, and reaches out to take his hand. In the same moment, he pushes what he can through his side of the link - the equivalent of an arm stuck through a barely open doorway. Even if Gregor could close it all the way, then he would hurt that tendril of Miles poking through.

And then, through that outstretched projection, Miles burns. Burns with the familiar loyalty he'd shown during that deep mind dive, but also of brilliant acceptance. Of all of Gregor, head to toe, peak to depth. There is hunger there too, a crackling desire that is absolutely not a reflection. Guilty, perhaps, to demand so much from a friend, but in the moment all Miles wants is more. And then too a little self-righteous anger. Gentler, not directed precisely at Gregor, but a strident note nonetheless. Don't I get a say in this? he says over their link, furiously bright. Who gave you the right to decide I can't want you?

Because he does, oh god he does. It's all he can do to only touch Gregor's hand instead of roving all over the rest of him all at once. ]

[He doesn't mean to-- he thinks he should keep pulling away, keep retreating-- but Gregor is so hungry for touch and reassurance after a lifetime of carefully dispensed, considerate contact that he can't bring himself to cooperate with his own better judgement. His hand spasms closed around Miles's, gripping it, and he needs that burning loyalty and acceptance as badly as plants need light to live. His whole being strains toward it automatically, the link widening slowly again in automatic welcome.

Usually, Gregor is careful to keep the real depths of his loneliness from Miles. Especially lately, since he's developed these feelings, he's kept it locked down in the corner of his mind he doesn't show him. But now it is a yawning void of desolate isolation, pierced with gratitude for those who puncture it.

He can't deny the justification behind that anger, he can't. But it's so hard to pit it against his old fears, which have had so long to entrench themselves, and have found such fertile ground in his mind, roots spread throughout. Sorry-- I'm sorry. It comes out like a gasp, with his physical breathing ragged. Not even sure what he's sorry for.

You...] I know you don't like men, [he says out loud, roughly.] And I can't-- be your test. I can't. I don't just want to hold your hand, Miles-- you don't know what I want. [The shame associated with his desires creeps upward out of that pit of loneliness, grabs hold of his throat, and is hot and thick enough to smother him.]

[ He stays bright then, as bright and brilliant as his soul will allow. Still radiating nothing but acceptance and love and that crackle of desire too. He'd jump in and fight all of Gregor's issues right now if he thought that would help; the tempting thought crosses his mind before he decides no, that's an extremely bad idea. He'll stay here as close as Gregor will allow him, but not cross that invisible boundary of privacy.

(He knows that loneliness, though. It doesn't run as deeply for Miles, given his family and his love life thus far, but it's a tributary to his deep well of self-worth. In the end, they both believe that they will be alone. Miles is here to furiously disprove that for both of them.)

Physically, he snorts. ] So what? I should go fool around with other men before coming back to you? [ Miles shakes his head just picturing it. He wants Gregor and only Gregor, dammit. Everything else falls away into nothing in comparison. ] We'll find out together. What we want, both of us.

[Typical that Miles figures out how to combat his own conviction that he'll be alone the second he needs to fight Gregor's. Really, it's typical. There's a helpless, drawn out huff of laughter, the sort of disbelief that comes with too much emotion all at once.]

It's that simple? [he asks, incredulous. Unwillingly, there's a swift pang of dark possessiveness at imagining Miles with other men. For some reason he doesn't care nearly as much about it with women-- he's been withstanding that quite well, really, Miles going on dates-- but he'd been using his heterosexuality as an excuse to keep himself suppressed for so long, and... He's supposed to be his.

Gregor cringes at the thought and hides his face in his hand again.]

I've been trying not to let you feel that, [he mutters.]

[ Miles, meanwhile, can't hide - or fake - the fluttering thrill that goes through him at that. His. Gregor's. Someone wanting him enough to stake a claim on him seems blissful beyond all words. It's all his desperation to get married reduced down to one simple, achievable goal. Be with Gregor. He doesn't even have to convince someone to like him - just convince Gregor not to hate himself. Worlds easier in comparison, he's sure of it.

With a gentle tug, he raises Gregor's other hand to his lips. Kisses the back of it, brushing his thumb over Gregor's knuckles. He murmurs: ]

Why not?

[His whole breathing is arrested, stutters to a stop, has to be started again. Then a shiver runs over him, a light tremor from head to toe.

It's okay. It's okay. Miles doesn't mind, he wouldn't lie to him... He wants him, he's not just appeasing him or deceiving him to make him happy, Gregor knows that because he can feel it. He hasn't closed the link. He just wanted to kiss his hand because he wanted to.

Gregor hasn't hurt him. Has he been denying himself this whole time for nothing? But somehow, that doesn't sting like it should, because he's too dazed at the complete reversal of what's going on in his head to care about that. All of his self-denial is so rote it's worn grooves in him, familiar tracks-- refusing to let himself act on his feelings for Miles, hating them and feeling ashamed of them, was just one new thing in a lifetime of containing himself.

But this one is... okay. More than okay, from what he can feel.

His eyes close. He takes it as a real question, admits in a low, bare whisper,] I scare myself.

[ Miles keeps his mouth where it is for a moment, his breath warm against the back of Gregor's hand. (Wants more, craves more - no, hold for a moment. Don't scare Gregor at this critical moment.) Gregor has very good reason to be scared. Serg's shadow, as Miles had guessed, in addition to everything else. Good god, had Gregor been allowed to love anyone? Had he allowed himself?

In a small, secret compartment of his own mind, he curses Cavilo for surely making this harder than it needs to be. ]

I've seen you. All of you, remember? There's nothing to be afraid of, truly.

[His life hasn't been all deprivation. Gregor has loved in careful, grateful amounts, directed at the appropriate parties. But loving with abandon, knowing it's allowed and there's no complications, no manipulation or deception behind it-- able to just lose himself in the feeling-- No, he's never done that. And he doesn't trust himself either, to lose himself in it.]

I didn't have these feelings then. They... they started right after. I've never felt like this before.

[Still speaking quietly, painfully, each word extracted from his soul. Gregor tugs his hand back over but only to take Miles's with it, pull it to his forehead and press it there in exhausted supplication, elbow braced on one upraised knee. He can't deny Miles's sincerity, which strips him of most of his objections. And he's not really objecting, truly, but he is... explaining.]

[ After that dive, eh ... He remembers waking up next to Gregor on the couch after, and feeling distinctly post-coital in its wake. Well. That makes them about even then. He tries to swallow the flush that comes to his face thinking about it; he'd been so sure that he'd ruined things, himself. Now he's kicking himself a bit for not doing something with it. (Too early? Would Gregor have reacted badly? Ah, well.)

He slides closer, following behind his hand. The other one he reaches to rest, lightly, against Gregor's hip. He fights back the temptation to crawl directly into Gregor's lap and curl up there - though the mental image of wanting to do so is quite bright. He'd just about fit. ]

For anyone?

[ That's a bad thing, he reminds himself, as another flutter goes through his stomach. Gregor ought to have had lots of love. All the love. And yet, he thrills a bit having Gregor all to himself. ]

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